


dearest comfort of mine

by gabriphales



Series: ravage is too kind a word [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Bathing/Washing, Bodyswap, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, M/M, Rape Aftermath, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-14
Updated: 2020-10-14
Packaged: 2021-03-09 02:34:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27007441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gabriphales/pseuds/gabriphales
Summary: crowley finds aziraphale after gabriel's long gone, and tries to help - as gingerly and cautious as can any demon can be
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: ravage is too kind a word [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1971097
Kudos: 42





	dearest comfort of mine

**Author's Note:**

> u rlly have to read the summary of the first fic in this series to know what tf is going on but like just for context. theyre bodyswapped for a decent chunk of this,,,

the lights have turned dim by now.

aziraphale’s given up on counting the minutes, giving way to hours upon hours of the same view, same pain, same position. crowley’s body aches, burning still between his legs. his eyes have gone dry and sore, swollen to the point it hurts to blink, hurts even more to keep them open. every gulp of air is weak, congested, crackly as it pours down between ribs that might as well be broken, they’re aching so badly.

sweat sticks curls to the nape of his neck. an itch crawls down his skin - _crowley’s_ skin, he reminds himself - and though the prickling is near unbearable, sinking into sharp nerves, he can't reach around to scratch at it. no matter how he pulls at his bindings, they’re entirely unbreakable. moving only makes him wince. he’s getting stiffer by the second.

he’d tried fighting earlier, wriggling like a maggot in arsenic-laced dirt, flinging himself as hard as he could against his restraints. but regardless of his attempts, there's little left to do but wait. wait to be found, incapable of cowering down from this shame. there's no way of hiding what's happened, no possible misconception to be found. crowley’s body is coated in cooling puddles, drying patches of cum. sticky and sore all over, it's best to keep his eyes closed. the moment he sees how he's let crowley’s body be humiliated, tortured and tormented beyond repair, his heart wobbles, beating fraily -

his pulse is too tired to bother with speeding up.

crowley’s ears hear it before aziraphale has the mind to focus. a dull rattling that turns to firm, full thuds. the sound grows closer, pacing nearer with every second that goes by. moving upwards, inwards, until aziraphale starts to realize - 

someone's running through the hallways. someone's coming for him.

and dear _god,_ he isn't sure whether to screech out in relief or warning, because who would want to _see him like this?_ the very sight might be traumatizing to any innocent witness. he has to shelter them, has to save their eyes from so cruel a view. but he can't even move; much less - his mouth is dried out, empty. there's no words left to say. and if there were, he wouldn't be able to say them.

when the door slams open, it's hard enough to make aziraphale flinch. sounding nearly like it might just snap off its hinges, take flight and ascend to new heights. instead, all it does is creak faintly, blurring into background white noise when shouting takes over.

it's his own voice crying out to him, but in a completely different tone. an octave that breeds warmth with its familiarity, that glows yellow like sunspots in grassy meadows, or cool, petal-dusting breeze on a hot summer's day. aziraphale knows who has come to save him now. he isn't sure whether he wants to be saved - not if it means crowley has to see his body in such a state.

but before he can muster up any energy to shroud himself away, crowley’s all over him. touching softly, sweetly, as if afraid the slightest pressure or rough nail edge might break him entirely. aziraphale whimpers in relief, exhausted, _anguished_ relief. like the dopamine-saturated peace of slipping into silence after a life threatening wound. and though crying is beyond him, he manages a few sharp inhales, stuttering gasps for air that fade as soon as they're done, one after the other. when he leans into crowley, tries to soak himself in that golden warm color - that safety so kind it feels like he might just be dozing on cloud fluff, ready to slip through at any moment - crowley wraps his arms around his back, rocking him gently.

“angel, angel, angel,” he says it over and over again, as if trying to convince aziraphale the fate he's confined to hasn't tainted him, he isn't fallen, anything but damned. “my god, please - please forgive me.”

aziraphale shakes his head, rustling his limbs, and moving the live back into them when crowley snaps his restraints gone. “you have nothing to apologize for, my dear boy. tell me, are you alright? has anyone - have you been hurt?”

and he pets crowley’s face - his own face, really - because it's easier to pretend this is just another night of soothing crowley’s woes, that nothing worth noting has happened to him. ignoring his problems is a half step away from forgetting them completely, and he knows he’ll never forget this. disregard is the best he might ever get.

“ _angel,”_ crowley says, quite firmly. “i’m fine. you can't talk your way out of this one.”

finally, aziraphale cries. hard and wet, coughing into crowley’s shoulder. crowley’s already taken off his overcoat in preparation for this, it seems. knew it was coming, and didn't want aziraphale to fret over dirtying his own clothes. 

he can't bear being known so well, not right now. being known if proof that he exists, and aziraphale would rather ponder if nothing has ever happened whatsoever, if he's dreamed up his entire life, as an excuse to avoid the present, than have to face it whatsoever.

“please,” he whispers, faint as a void. “take me home. i want to go _home.”_

it was the most wretched and broken and _miserable _he’s ever sounded. crowley nods, but there's an asterisk to the bob of his head, something hard and anxious lingering in his expression. before aziraphale can ask him what's wrong, he says, “is it alright if i help you wash, just so we can swap back?”__

__and aziraphale knows that has to be done, sooner rather than later - he's burning to get this damned spunk off, born from a power higher than either him or crowley, and therefore, unable to be miracled away. he feels mutilated like this, the calf found dead, half-starved in a field, too sickly to feed on its mother’s milk. decaying and littered with filth, flies and fleas and all sorts of _dirty_ things making up a menagerie of a metaphor in his mind. he’s dirty now. unclean in a way that won't wash off, it’ll never go down the drain with the rest of what gabriel’s left behind. and no matter how hard he tries to believe in his purity, no matter how many times his goodness is assured, _(it wasn't his fault, everyone will say, like a chant, a hymn)_ he’ll never heal completely - he can only hope to scab over. a rough, ugly scar where smooth skin had once been. _ _

__he starts crying again, but rubs his tired eyes, and lets crowley help him to the bath. resting his whole weight against his body, and taking wobbly, uncertain steps, until he slips on the granite floor, and crowley is forced to carry him._ _

__“‘s strong, angel, this body of yours.” crowley chuckles, trying to lighten the mood. aziraphale laughs with him, if only to soften the demon’s nerves. he can see them spiking behind his eyes, rising in every inhale,_ _

__by the time they reach the bath, aziraphale’s shakes have turned to minute, miniscule quivers. he clings onto crowley’s shoulder as he steps in, places his foot down in already warm water, miracled there with ease. it's hot, not scaldingly so, but with just enough singe to feel like it might cleanse him just like cooking burns out bacteria from raw meat. his eyes close, and he leans his head back, briefly contented, until he stretches his muscles and they _twinge_ at the threat. crowley notices his whimper, and dampens the pain as well as well he can. snapping his fingers soft and out of sight, silent, so as to not draw aziraphale’s attention, make him feel like a burden. but aziraphale can still hear him, and ironically, the extra mile only hurts worse. he doesn't deserve crowley’s charity, not after what he's let his body come to. he doesn't deserve this._ _

__when crowley turns his back, aziraphale dips his head under the water, counts the lightning ripples of glow that reflect beneath the surface, and breathes in. quickly, with a sharp intake. the water is even hotter inside him, and he manages to hold it in, just as he had gabriel, just as he had gabriel’s _filth,_ until crowley is dragging him back up by his shoulders. he coughs, spluttering up what seems so _little_ an amount of water for how badly it had hurt. crowley’s eyes are wide open, he wants to ask him something, but it's too hard to say, or too long to answer, or simply too much for a moment such as now, so he pulls a fluffy towel aside, and gestures for aziraphale to get out._ _

__walking to the bed is easier now. especially when crowley tucks a shirt over him, holds his body so close it's hard to decipher which one belongs to which, and then they're crossing over, crossing paths, and all the dirtiness follows aziraphale along with him. better to hold it in his soul, melded to his essence, than let crowley carry what shouldn't ever be his._ _

__“better now?” crowley asks, and aziraphale nods, laying down over the covers. black silk, just as he’d always imagined crowley’s bed would be. he shivers for a moment, feels oddly cold even beneath his clothes, and then remembers - oh _lord_ -_ _

__“crowley,” he says, jolting up with a startle. “he figured it out, at the end, that i was - it wasn't - he knows, and he might come back for you!”_ _

__crowley hushes him quickly, cupping at his face, and clumsily climbing onto the bed. aziraphale shakes his head away from the touch, flinches like he's been shocked, stung by a venomous stinger, sliced by the tip of a knife. crowley burdens with remorse, tucking it under his tongue, out of the way when he tries to talk aziraphale into calming down._ _

__“promise, angel, he's not coming. he won't ever see either of us again.” the sour aftertaste in crowley’s tone does not go unnoticed. though it's silent, aziraphale can still make out the words _'i’ll make damn well sure of that,'_ through subtext, reading between the lines._ _

__“how can you possibly be sure?” aziraphale pleads more than he asks, _please, please be sure._ _ _

__and crowley sits back, flat on his knees, crossing his arms, and looking rougher with every inch of confession he bites out. “he told me. said it was only a test, a chance to prove that our love was strong enough to be considered - “ he chokes, guilt welling in his throat like a ripe knot. “to be deemed _holy,_ excusable in the eyes of god.”_ _

__“crowley,” aziraphale soothes, reaching out to pull him closer, bring him down so he might feel the warmth that's had centuries to attest just how safe it is, he won't be hurt under its touch. even when it makes his breath waver, and his chest pull tight as a bowstring, he careens forwards, and cradles himself in crowley’s arms, head against his chest, rocking them both gently. he’ll do the hard work for him, just as crowley has always done without expecting anything in return._ _

__“my dear boy, my dear, _sweet_ crowley, please, won't you look at me again? i miss it so terribly, and your eyes are only more beautiful now that i’ve seen through them, _oh,_ that's it, that's a pet, so pretty, so bright.” he rambles on, not letting go of crowley’s abdomen until he's quite certain there won't be any fleeing the scene should he loosen his grip. _ _

__“i can't believe it,” crowley whispers. “i can't believe he could do that to you, and he’s still . . . still - “_ _

__“still an angel?” aziraphale finishes for him, shuffling even closer now. perhaps, if he's prudent enough in his efforts, he can sneak back into crowley’s body, live a life entirely sheltered by his light, protected under the most glorious shadow. he’d never leave, he realizes, if he stooped that low, became so desperate. and crowley would let him, heaven knows, crowley will always let him._ _

__“can we sleep together?” he asks, because it's the closest facsimile he’s willing to indulge to being a part of crowley himself. “just for tonight?”_ _

__and they’ve never done it before, but crowley tucks the covers over them both, drapes aziraphale in satin and silk, smoother than diamond light, and promises, “for as many nights as you want, angel.”_ _

__nestling deeper against him, breathing in crowley, crowley, _crowley_ all around him, aziraphale softens - because he knows it's true. he can stay here for as long as he likes. and right now, in his dreary, weary, deliriously sleep-deprived state, he finds eternity might be the only length he's willing to settle for._ _

**Author's Note:**

> as a sidenote i wanted to say this isnt exactly the best way to comfort someone in the immediate aftermath of assault. crowley is way way too touchy and makes mistakes that any real person most likely would


End file.
